


Between Scylla and Charybdis

by cherie_morte



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, i just really like tentacles ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: To save a young girl, Dean insists on rushing into a job before they really know what they're hunting. They just barely make it out intact: one small injury, a bite to Dean's neck, and as far as Sam's concerned they got lucky. At least until they find out the bite they'd thought was no big deal is slowly changing Dean into a lake monster. Now Sam has to decide between killing his brother and risking that Dean will turn him next.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of my 2014 [spn_reversebang](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) originally posted [here](http://infatuated-ink.livejournal.com/89045.html). Inspired by art by [sillie82](http://sillie82.livejournal.com/) posted [here](http://sillie82.livejournal.com/311681.html).

"So, what do you think?"

Dean grins at him, flourishing two guns in each hand and a utility belt stocked with knives of varying lengths and metals. They'll be lucky if he doesn't take a leg off—either one of his own or one of Sam's—just getting in the car.

He wants to know what Sam thinks. Well, he asked for it.

"I think you're an idiot," Sam replies frankly. Dean opens his mouth as if to reply, but Sam's not done yet. Oh, is he ever not done. "I think we need to do more research. I think we're about to barge into this hunt with almost no useful intel. I think we're going to get ourselves killed."

"You about finished?" Dean asks.

Sam takes a few seconds to breathe angrily, but he has to give Dean this one. "Yeah, that pretty much covers everything."

"Good," Dean says, pulling out a couple of stakes and tucking one into each of his jacket's side pockets. He slams the trunk closed just a little harder than he normally would, which is the only sign he's not as infuriatingly nonchalant in the face of Sam's response as he's trying to seem. "Let's go then."

"Dean," Sam says, reaching out to catch Dean by the arm and pull him in before he can open the Impala. He crowds in, kissing his brother as a peace offering before insisting, "We're not ready to hunt this thing."

"Sammy. We've got a rough idea of what we're dealing with." Sam huffs, but Dean ignores it. "One of these weapons is bound to gank it. You know this thing doesn't play with its food. If we don't strike now, it'll kill Mandy Bilson."

Sam's jaw tightens, but he doesn't say the thing they're both thinking. Mandy's brother Fred had called over an hour ago to tell them his sister hadn't come home. She'd been determined to prove Fred had only imagined what he told the cops—and subsequently Sam and Dean—he saw attack his friends during their camping trip the week before, and apparently nothing anyone could say would talk her out of going out to the lake. They don't know what it is or how it kills exactly, but one thing is obvious: the monster can rip through a human body without much effort. The coroner told them it had probably taken about five minutes for each victim to die, less in some cases. 

Dean liked Mandy; she was stubborn and headstrong, like Sam had been at her age, Dean said, but she was quick as a whip and funny. After their first interview, Dean had gotten back in the car, still laughing from her parting shot, and told Sam she'd make a hell of a hunter. Sam had agreed at the time, and he liked her too.

But that doesn't change the ugly fact that she's very likely dead by now.

"Dean," he says again, softer.

His brother turns his face away from the kiss this time. "Don't say it. We're gonna save her. If that means charging in half-cocked, so be it. Let's go."

It's easy for Dean to slip Sam's grip after that. Sam's not holding too tight, because Dean's probably right, and even if he weren't, there's no way to talk him down at this point. The best Sam can do is go along with it. That way, if Dean is wrong, he at least won't be up against whatever this thing is alone.

Sam opens the shotgun door and slides in, a universal sign of his deciding to let Dean have his way, and Dean grins as he plants himself in the driver's seat.

"Alright," he says, the Impala's engine roaring over him. "Run me through what we do know. Maybe we'll catch something we missed on the way over."

Sam throws out a put-upon sigh just for the sake of appearances, which only makes Dean's smile spread. "Unidentified monster. Lives in the woods around the lake. Has taken 12 campers in the last six or seven months. Local talk says it's Bigfoot, though of course no one's ever seen it take anyone until—"

"Fred Bilson last week," Dean says. "And he didn't get a good look. Skip to the M.O., Sammy, it's not a long drive."

"You said you wanted to hear what we know," Sam responds. "I assumed that meant everything."

Dean snorts. "How could I forget you'd get bogged down in the details? Nerd."

"Jerk." Sam rolls his eyes, then picks back up on the job. "Alright. Now, your werewolf theory worked with the campers last week because of the full moon."

"But not if Mandy got taken by the same thing today."

Sam nods. "Exactly."

"Black dog's still my best bet," says Dean. "Bodies that have been recovered all looked snacked on pretty good, and black dog kills usually look like werewolves but sloppier."

"Yeah," Sam answers, not convinced. "The bodies have the right bite marks, but there's still too many other things not explained. Those round bruises wrapping around some of the victims, the dislocated body parts. It looked like they'd been trying to fight out of restraints. I'm thinking we're dealing with something more intelligent than a wild animal attack."

"No, no way." Dean's shaking his head, his fingers tapping along to the Zeppelin humming in the background. "I know a chew toy when I see one, man. Whatever it is—shifter, black dog, were, it's in that family, and that means one good silver bullet in the right place and we're done. We don't have to know exactly what it is to take it down."

"But it's only a guess that it's even related, Dean." Sam pulls their file on the case out of his backpack and flips to the autopsy photos he's spent the last two days completely stumped by. "There's still the blood to think about. We've never seen anything like that."

Dean barely glances over, but Sam knows he's been far more thrown by the bright blue color of all the victims' blood than he's letting on. "We've gotta try the silver," is all he says, and then his foot presses harder on the gas.

_______________________________________________________________

Sam's holding his breath. Listening to the crunch of dry twigs and leaves under his feet as he and Dean plunge through the woods, trying to draw the creature out. He can't hear anything yet, and from the crime scenes they've observed so far, this monster should not be able to step lightly. The tracks it leaves look like someone dragged an elephant around.

"Man, this is stupid," Dean says after a while, and Sam can't help being inclined to agree with him. "Maybe we're in the wrong—"

There's a soft sound of shuffling, and Dean goes quiet. Sam waits to hear the rest of the sentence, then turns to see what shut his brother up. He's expecting Dean to be flat on his ass, maybe, tripped on a pile of mulch.

What he's not expecting to see is Dean, wheezing as he grabs at a bright blue tentacle, trying to loosen its grip on his neck. Right, tentacles. That explains the weird sucker-like marks on the victims, as well as the dislocated limbs from trying to escape being tied up.

"Dean!" Sam yells, and Dean continues to kick in the monster's grasp, his mouth moving in a pattern that looks like it might say something about Sam being an idiot and 'get me out of here.'

The way the creature's holding Dean, it's hard to get a shot off without risking that the bullet will land in his brother's brain instead of the one he's aiming for. Sam can't even see what the monster is or what it looks like, except for the outlines of a vaguely humanoid blue body and a mass of squiggling limbs. Dean is right in front of it, and it's only a little bigger than him.

Priority right now is getting Dean free, so Sam shoots what he knows he _can_ hit. The silver bullet sinks into the limb wrapped around Dean's neck and the monster cries out, releasing its hold just long enough for Dean to take one gasping breath and get a knife out.

That's the good news. The bad news is that the shot seems to have done little more than piss the thing off. It's gushing blue blood, but there's no burning reaction to the silver, and it isn't slowing down. So there goes Dean's theory.

"Dammit, Dean, I told you we should figure out what it is before we—"

"Time and place, Sammy," Dean yells back, his voice hoarse. He tries to stab at the monster, and it easily whacks his knife away with one of its many limbs. "You can say I told you so when I'm not balls deep in tentacles."

Sam has no idea what they're up against or where he should shoot to properly kill it, but it's pretty clear they're going to need to hack their way through all those limbs if they want to have any chance at all.

He drops his gun and opens his duffel, digging through it for something a little better at chopping off body parts. He's hoping for a machete, but Dean packed, so of course the first thing he sees is a sword.

Dean is on his back on a pile of leaves, the beast hovering just a few feet above him, and it looks like it's about to strike. Sam doesn't have time to be picky.

He grabs the sword and charges forward, yelling to try and distract the monster away from his brother. It doesn't work, and Sam watches as it goes down for the kill, Dean disappearing under a curtain of tentacles. Dean cries out in pain—it's not the worst sound Sam has ever heard from his brother, not by a lot, but the fact that he can't see what's causing it has him even more on edge.

His stomach drops, and he loses all sense, plunging the sword into what seems to be the creature's head as soon as he's close enough.

Sam doesn't hack into a brain and cause it to die on impact like he was maybe sort of hoping he would, but at least the monster raises its head until it's looking at Sam with two perfectly round big blue eyes, pupils the size of a grape. He can see Dean on the floor now, clutching at his neck and rolling in pain, but he looks mostly okay, so Sam decides killing the thing should be priority. Then he'll check Dean's wound.

"C'mon, you big ugly bastard," Sam says, holding its gaze. Anything to keep its attention off Dean. "Come on. Try something. I dare you."

It doesn't move, just stays in place, hovering over Dean like a mother protecting her young. It's not until Dean holds his hand out and Sam tries to pull him up that it hisses, a mouth suddenly appearing on its jelly blue face, rows and rows of sharp teeth inside.

He doesn't even think, just plunges the sword right in, feeding it so far down the monster's throat that Sam's whole arm is going to be missing if it bites down. Luckily it doesn't; it screams loudly, reeling back as Sam pulls the sword out. It takes a few big, faltering steps away from them before it begins to thrash wildly, a gargling sound letting Sam know it's choking on its own blood.

"Sick," Dean says, still holding his hand to his neck, but he's grinning now as he sits up to watch the monster die. Then he turns to face Sam, and his eyes go wide. "Sammy, behind you!"

Sam turns just in time to see another equally blue tentacle monster rearing up, its jaw unhinging like it's planning to swallow Sam in one bite. It's obviously about to chomp down, so Sam moves quickly, pointing the sword directly up above his head. The creature doesn't react in time to change its attack and impales itself on the sword, this time pulling up and back so fast and so hard that Sam has to let go of his weapon, leaving it lodged in the creature's throat, in order to avoid behind dragged along for the ride.

He watches the monster fall back on itself, spitting up blue blood for about a half a minute before he sinks to his knees next to Dean. The first creature has stopped moving altogether, and Sam's pretty confident they're both goners.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asks, his hands moving over Dean's face, his chest, his legs, trying to check for damage. He doesn't find anything, at least nothing but the neck bite that Dean is still pressing his hand against.

"It bit me," Dean says, releasing the cut so Sam can get a look at it. "Since when do octopuses bite, Sam?"

"Since they come up a third of a mile on land and are actually weirdo blob monsters instead of octopuses." Sam puts a hand on Dean's shoulder and helps him sit up more comfortably. "It doesn't look that bad."

"It's the principle of the thing," Dean insists. "It molested me."

"Question is, why didn't it eat you?" Dean narrows his eyes at Sam and glares for a long minute before Sam rolls his eyes and explains, "No, seriously. It could have chewed through your organs in the time it took me to get to you. It just sat there instead of attacking. The bodies we found all looked like it had worked way faster than that."

Dean coughs and turns his head away. "It was petting me."

"What?"

He looks up, clearly pissed that Sam is making him clarify. "When it had me down on the ground. It wasn't trying to hurt me. It was, like, stroking me with its tentacles. It was weird, Sam. I don't feel clean."

Sam manages not to laugh, not yet anyway. "What about the bite then?"

"I didn't really get a chance to ask." Dean shrugs. "When it first caught me, it wasn't trying to choke me. It was trying to get me in a place where it could bite. But the bite was all it was trying for, I think. I mean, it didn't do anything else to me after."

"Weird," Sam says.

"Really weird." Dean starts to get up, and Sam stands, helping him. "I need a shower. And to never talk about this again."

"We got off lucky," Sam replies, giving Dean a reassuring pat once he's on his feet. "That doesn't even need stitches. We could have died. You at least definitely should have died."

"You're a bucket of sunshine, aren't ya?" Dean groans, turning his head from side to side to test his injury. "You know, this is your fault. You said there was no way it was a lake monster."

"Well, I've never seen any kind of lake monster that can leave its lake. Let alone go up to a mile on shore like these must have to get those campers last week. So maybe next time I say let's do more research, let's do more research."

Sam tries to push past him, but Dean catches his shoulder, and when Sam turns, he's making one of those faces it’s hard to stay mad at. "You were right, Sammy. This was stupid. I should have listened to you."

He makes a disbelieving face, and Dean inclines his head back at the two corpses on the ground behind them. "Remember Mandy's tattoo?"

Sam sees then what's got Dean so upset, and he frowns. "Shit."

"Yeah," Dean answers. "Saw it when that arm was trying to choke me."

Now that Dean has pointed it out, it's easy to identify the discolored markings on the tentacle Sam shot. It was a branch and some orange flowers on Mandy's arm. Now it's a brown line and a greenish patch of color, but it's clearly the same design, stretched out and dyed blue.

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "I know you liked her."

Dean nods but tries to swallow it down as always. Stay professional. "So what, it eats people and then takes their skin off?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know. I mean, I don't think so? The other bodies weren't missing any skin, but then, it clearly changed its M.O. between attacking them and attacking you."

"It didn't kill her. It turned her." He points to the corpse of the first of the two monsters. "That's her. _We_ killed her."

"Dean, she was about to eat you. What was I supposed to do?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. But if we'd gotten here faster—"

"We came as fast as we could. You made sure of that." Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder and gives him a small smile. He hopes Dean's wrong about the monster being Mandy, but he's not sorry. She would have killed Dean. "Help me gather some of these branches, huh? We'll give her a hunter's funeral. The other one, too. God knows who it was before…"

"If that thing turned Mandy, do you think there's another one? Something must have turned it, right?"

"We'll keep an eye out and come back if it looks like there's still something hunting," Sam says. "But judging from the size of it, there haven't been nearly enough deaths for two of them to have been feeding this whole time."

"Right," Dean replies, obviously still put out. "Let's just get this over with."

_______________________________________________________________

Sam knows better than to argue when Dean suggests they go out for drinks a few hours later. His brother's mood had been gloomy since the hunt, and if he thinks alcohol is going to help him cope with the fact that they couldn't save Mandy, the best Sam can do is be there to carry his drunk ass home.

Surprisingly, Dean is almost his usual self by the time they’re parking and heading into The Glory Whole, a bar so seedy it's a dive even for them, but it's reasonable walking distance from their motel, and Dean insisted the name was too good to pass up.

"That thing was weird," Dean's saying, for the millionth time, as he holds the door open for Sam. "What even were they? I've never seen anything like it."

"Nothing in Dad's journal, either," says Sam. "I called Bobby and told him everything we know. He said it was new to him, too, but he's looking into it. Maybe next time we'll actually be ready to fight it."

"Hey, we didn't do too bad," Dean replies with a grin.

Sam doesn't bother replying, just gives the ace bandage on Dean's neck a pointed look.

Throwing his head back, Dean laughs fully, and Sam's so relieved to see the easy smile—booze free, even—that he squashes the nagging little voice that tells him Dean is going to pull off the adhesive on the bandage moving like that. "Aww, c'mon, Sammy. A man's gotta have his battle scars. How else will the womenfolk know I'm a badass?"

"Did you just say womenfolk?" Sam asks, choosing not to take the bait.

Dean nods. "Don't worry, you're still my best girl. Well, after Baby. And that nurse in San Diego with the dungeon. She was wild."

He narrows his eyes at his brother, then huffs as he turns his attention to the bar instead of Dean. "We'll have two beers."

The bartender, a short, round guy with about seven orange hairs left on his shiny head nods, but Dean holds his arm out to stop him. Sam's stomach clenches, assuming Dean's about to order something stronger, that he's not over the hunt the way he's pretending to be.

But what Dean says instead is, "Actually, can I just get a water? With salt."

Looking from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean, the bartender raises an eyebrow. "Is that…a joke?"

"There a problem?" Dean replies, cold as ice, and the man shrugs. Dean motions him back as he tries to leave to get Sam's beer, says, "Extra salt, yeah?"

Again, the bartender slides a glance to Sam, but Sam can't imagine he looks any saner than Dean does right now, not with how confused he is by Dean's drink order.

They get their drinks and carry them off to a poorly lit corner table. Sam sits, watching Dean closely as he slides in and puts an arm around the back of their seat.

And takes a huge, hungry sip of his salt water, swishing it from one side of his mouth to the other before attacking the salt shaker and emptying half of it into his glass. He looks up once he's satisfied, raising the glass to his lips, and then stops.

"What?" he asks. "Why that face?"

"Dean, you're drinking saltwater." Dean makes a 'well, duh' face, and Sam tilts his head to one side. "You chose to drink saltwater instead of beer."

"I can't change it up a little now?"

Sam scratches his cheek. "You know that enough of that will kill you, right?"

Dean takes a long sip and grins at Sam. "So I won't drink enough of it."

"Who drinks saltwater?" Sam asks. "Since when do you drink saltwater?"

"I dunno," Dean replies, apparently completely unphased by his own weird behavior. "Don't want me to go and get too drunk to pound your ass later, huh?"

Dean gives Sam a smarmy wink, and Sam just shakes his head, smiling against the lip of his bottle. He doesn't need to act cocky; they both know who will actually be pounding whose ass by the end of the night.

Dean finishes one more disgusting glass of water before he gives Sam a dirty smirk. "Hey, Sam. Let's go back to the room."

"We just got here half an hour ago," Sam tells him, checking his phone. "Coming here was your idea."

Dean's hand slips between Sam's thighs and he leans in, whispering, "Changed my mind. I'm bored. Let's go back to the room."

Sam gulps down the rest of his beer in record time, drops enough cash on the table to cover his beer and a generous tip to make up for Dean's funky order, and they're on their way out in minutes. They make it as far as the Impala before Dean's head is in Sam's lap, and Sam forgets about the saltwater.

_______________________________________________________________

Their next case is a standard salt-and-burn, open and close within a day. Research on who they're hunting until the sun sets, a quick trip to the local cemetery after sun down, and nothing more dangerous than a flickering ghost of someone's angry ex-wife to ward off.

It's Dean's turn to dig up the grave, so as soon as they get home, he heads straight for the bathroom. Sam's a little bruised from the ghost roughing him up, so he decides to skip Dean's offer to join in favor of ordering some Chinese while his brother scrubs the dirt and sweat off.

He waits forty-five minutes after the food arrives, and Dean's still in the bathroom. Even when the grime is caked on, Dean's too well-trained from the army showers Dad made them take to spend more than a quarter of an hour in the shower.

Sam knocks on the door and calls out, "Dean, are you alright? Did you drown in there?"

"I'm fine," Dean yells back.

"Are you sick or something? Need me to run to the store for some—"

"Nah, I said I'm fine."

Sam can hear the splashing from inside, and that's when he realizes what's going on. "Dude, are you taking a bath?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I don't think you've ever taken a bath in your life." Sam's nose scrunches up. "Man, who bathes in a motel bathroom? Did you even clean it first?"

"Quit bitching and let me live my life, Sam," Dean replies.

"There's Chinese food and it's gonna get cold," Sam says, trying his last card.

"I'll be out in a bit." Sam shrugs, about to start in on his own meal when Dean calls him back. "Oh, hey, and Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you bring me some salt?"

_______________________________________________________________

By the time Dean is done with his _salt water bath_ , the food has all gone cool and unappealing. True to himself, Dean eats his own meal and the leftovers of Sam's orange chicken in about ten minutes anyway.

The TV is on but no one's watching it. Sam is sorting through a pile of articles he printed out in the motel's business center while Dean was busy soaking himself, weighing the merits of each.

Dean is straddling his lap, grinding against him and sucking at his ear, his still pruny fingers snaking up Sam's shirt, his thumb rubbing over the slip of skin he can reach at this awkward angle.

"We've got what looks like a ghoul hunt in Macon, Georgia, another salt-and-burn in Jacksonville, and this bizarre string of murders in Little Rock—not definitely our kind of thing but—ah. Dean," Sam groans, dropping his hand to the mattress, letting go of the research, and pressing his palms against each side of his brother's hips instead, "you're distracting me."

"Mmm," Dean says. Sam feels a smile against the shell of his ear just before Dean bites it, then licks it to soothe the pain. "And about time, too."

"Seriously," Sam insists. "We gotta pick a job before we—"

"Ghouls, Sammy," Dean answers, his nose trailing down the skin between Sam's ear and neck. Then he's shoving the collar of Sam's shirt aside, sucking on his shoulder. "You know I always vote for ghouls."

"Oh—okay," Sam stutters, finally letting himself get dragged into Dean's rhythm. "Whatever you say."

"I say you fuck me," Dean whispers. "And then maybe after we can cuddle."

Sam breaks out laughing so hard that Dean falls off his lap.

He gives Sam an affronted look, like he can't figure out what's so funny. And it's not that they don't cuddle. It's just, well. "Dude, did _you_ just say you wanted to cuddle?"

Dean's face changes immediately, from insulted to stunned. He blinks a few times, and Sam thinks he looks more than a little like a dear caught in headlights. "Oh my god, I did, didn't I?

"Yeah," Sam replies, wiping at the tears gathering in his eyes from laughing so hard. "You totally did."

"Shut up!" Dean orders.

That only makes Sam double over with another fit of laughter, until finally he's laughed so hard for so long that he has to slow down for no other reason than because he needs to breathe.

Dean smacks him with a pillow, and Sam's still chuckling a little as he drags Dean down on top of him. "Now you wanna talk about what's going on?"

"Going on with what?"

"With you. First the saltwater at the bar. Then the bath. And now…" Sam's face contorts, and he tries to school himself so he doesn't start laughing again.

"Say it and I will desecrate your grave, Sam. I will outlive you just to pee on your headstone, got me?"

"Aww," Sam says in a baby voice. "Is somebody cranky without his hugs?"

Dean narrows his eyes, but after a moment he sighs and says, "I don't know what's up. I mean, it's no big deal. I feel fine. Pretty good, actually. Just…I really like saltwater all of a sudden." He grins and takes his bottom lip between his teeth the way he knows drives Sam insane. "And I'm really horny. You wanna help me out with that?"

So Sam does.

When they're both fucked out, Dean shaking loose after riding Sam, infuriatingly slow and teasing for the better part of an hour, Sam pulls Dean down into his arms. "You wanna cuddle now?"

Dean pushes him in the side as he gets comfortable, resting his head on Sam's chest. "No, shut up." He coughs and then nuzzles in closer. "I just wanna wrap myself around you a little, is all. In a manly, non-cuddling kind of way."

Sam's too tired to really crack up again, but his lips curl into a grin. Dean slaps his stomach. "I hate you."

"Night, cuddle muffin." Sam yawns and tightens his arm around Dean, and there's no denying that Dean lets out a soft, satisfied little sound.

_______________________________________________________________

The ghoul hunt takes nearly two days and doesn't exactly go off without a hitch. Of course, the most worrying thing about it is Dean.

"Should have made the connection sooner," Sam says, passing a cotton ball soaked in Jim Beam over the cut on Dean's right shoulder. The cut that is oozing bright blue blood. "The saltwater, I mean, how obvious could it have been?"

He breaks from cleaning out Dean's wound to take a hearty swig from the bottle. "This is bad, Dean. This is really bad."

"It might not be that bad!" Dean says. He pokes the injury and beams at himself in the mirror as more blue ooze drips out, then looks up at Sam like he's about to share some truly brilliant insight. "It's the first time I've ever been a blue blood, huh Sammy?"

"Incredible," Sam deadpans, standing up to pace the room.

"Aww, don't get mad, sweetheart," Dean jokes, reaching out for Sam to come back.

"Dean, quit making light of this. You're about to turn into a—into whatever those things were!"

"There's gotta be a catchier title for that." Sam glares, and Dean sighs. "Maybe not, Sam. Maybe I'm just getting a few weird traits or something. I mean, think about it. Mandy was only gone for a few hours and she was full on Octopussy by the time we arrived. It's been days, if I was gonna turn, don't you think I would have already?"

"I have no idea!" Sam snaps. "I have no idea because we don't know anything about what that thing was. Because _you_ insisted we charge in ignorant, and now—"

"And now I'm the one being punished for it. Kind of poetic."

"Please take this seriously," Sam says.

"It's not that big a deal," Dean insists yet again, and yet again, Sam thinks he might throttle him. "I don't think it's gonna get any worse."

"And if it does?"

"We'll figure it out," Dean answers. "Like we always do."

Not always, Sam thinks, but he pushes that away. This isn't going to be another time he loses Dean. Not over something this stupid. No way.

"Sam," Dean says in a pacifying tone. "Come on, whatever this is, it's happening slowly. We have time to figure it out. In the meantime, it's a little blue blood, okay? We've seen worse. I don't know what you're so freaked out about."

"Today, you jumped between me and a ghoul and spent half a minute hissing at it before you shot it."

"He deserved it! He was trying to bite your fingers off," Dean replies. He waggles his eyebrows. "I need those fingers."

"My point is, he could have killed you."

"He didn't." Dean gestures to the cut on his shoulder. "This is barely a scratch. We've had way closer calls than this."

"That's not the point! The point is we don't know what's going on and you're acting unpredictably on hunts."

Dean reaches out and pulls Sam in, putting his hands on Sam's hips and looking up from where he's sitting. "Hey. I get it, okay? We'll figure this out. We'll do some research. That'll make you feel better, huh? A little research?"

Sam couldn't feel more like a petulant child being soothed by his big brother, but he gives a sour nod and maybe even stops pouting a little.

_______________________________________________________________

Bobby calls about two hours later. Sam has been digging around every dependable website he knows of, but he hasn't made an inch of progress.

It's a relief when the phone rings, a bigger relief when, after the obligatory greetings and questions to confirm identities, Bobby dives right in.

"Remember that thing you told me to look into the other day, the creature from the black lagoon?"

"Yeah," Sam answers, not sure if he should tell Bobby Dean might be turning into one or just take whatever info he can get and spare Dean the embarrassment. "Please tell me you've found something useful. I've got squat."

"I've got plenty," Bobby replies. "But, uh, I'm calling with some bad news. You said one of 'em bit Dean, didn't you?"

"On his neck, yeah."

"Well, I hate to tell you, but there's a good chance Dean's been infected with the monster's venom."

Sam glances up across the room, to the sink where Dean is filling a glass of water and holding it up to the bathroom light, smiling brightly as he watches salt swirl and dissolve in the bottom of the glass.

"You don't say," Sam replies drily.

"You bet I do," Bobby says cheerfully. "And the monster your idjit brother has gotten himself turned into this week is a scylla."

"Scylla?" Sam says. "Like the Greek myth?"

"Got it in one," Bobby replies. "Aren't you just the smartest sasquatch that ever lived?"

"But Scylla was a person—I mean, there was only one of her. It's not a creature."

"That's where you're wrong, I'm afraid. And you were on such a roll, too." Sam can hear Bobby flipping through pages before he starts reading out more lore. "It's actually a very well-documented phenomenon. Apparently a lot of people in the old days got themselves infected and lived long enough to write about it. See, the first one happened exactly like the myth tells, jealous sorceress poisons the sea-pool where her beautiful rival bathes, Scylla swallows enough of the potion and hulks out. What the myth leaves out is that the transformed Scylla then captures men, some just to snack on, but others she only bites a few times. The bite has the same cocktail that turned her ass, and before you know it, you've got a gaggle of little sea monsters on your hands."

"So that explains why the victim's blood was blue like Dean's is now," Sam guesses. "The venom starts to turn everyone the creature bites, just some of them get snacked on before it has a chance to really change them?"

"Bingo," Bobby says.

"But if the stuff works so slowly, then how was the girl we were trying to save already completely gone by the time we arrived? She'd only been missing a few hours. Dean got bitten days ago."

"By some miracle, it looks like your fool brother got lucky for once. You said she only bit him in one place?"

"Yeah." Sam breathes a little lighter. "For less than a minute, I'd say. Does that mean he won't turn completely?"

"Oh, he'll turn," Bobby says. Sam's hope all deflates like a popped balloon. "But slower than he would have. Two bites and he'd have been done within 24 hours. Three or more, hours, maybe minutes. Who knows? No documented cases of anyone being saved at that point, at least not in any of the research I pulled up."

"How long do we have then?" Sam demands.

Bobby hesitates. "Now, it's a little different for everyone, you understand? I can't make promises."

"Bobby, just tell me what you know."

"He's got about a week before the transformation is complete—" Sam lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A week. That gives them more than two days to fix this. They should be fine. "But Sam, it's not all that simple. Once he's past a certain point, there's no turning back."

"What point?" Sam demands, and he only realizes how snappy it came out after he says it.

Thankfully, Bobby lets it go. "Well, you see how it's happening gradually?"

Sam nods, then realizes Bobby can't see him and says, "Yes."

"It's gonna speed up pretty soon. Now, no one has been able to mark it down to a complete science, but Dean's body should start shifting within the next twelve hours or so. Once his body has made significant enough progress, the venom overrides the rest of his fluids. He'll lose his sense—what little he ever had of it, anyway, he'll start looking and acting more and more like a monster. If it gets far enough that Dean is mostly gone and only the creature remains, he'll be able to turn people. He should already be feeling the urge. These things love company. If they see something they like, they'll try to change it, make a mate for themselves. So don't let Dean near any pretty girls."

"Pretty girls," Sam says with a nervous laugh. This could explain why Dean's been so clingy lately. "Right."

"I'm serious, even if he doesn't have venom yet. Don't think having him walk up to strangers and start biting them is gonna make you two any friends."

"I'll do my best," Sam replies.

"Anyway, once he's monster enough to turn someone else, it's game over. There's a remedy to change people back, but what it does is expel the poison. Once the poison has flushed out enough of the human fluids that the body is dependent on it, that's as good as killing him."

"Right," Sam says. He swallows hard. "Better cure him soon, then. What's the magic potion?"

"About that," Bobby says slowly.

"Bobby," Sam interrupts. "I can't handle any more bad news today."

"I'm working on it. A lot of this crap's in Ancient Greek. It takes some effort to get it translated. I need more time."

"We don't have more—" Sam takes a calming breath. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I know this isn't your fault. Just. Please hurry?"

"You got it, kid," Bobby promises.

They say goodbye and Dean looks at Sam expectantly, so Sam lays out everything Bobby told him.

"It all makes sense now," Dean says, and Sam lifts an eyebrow.

"What about any of this makes sense to you?"

"How the—scylla, you said?—how the scylla that turned Mandy got turned without another monster there to change it," Dean replies. "Remember? That factory in town that was under investigation for polluting the lake? We ruled it out because we didn't think the creature was lake-related."

"Wow, you're right," Sam says. "So, what, some genius goes swimming in the polluted lake, the chemicals just so happen to make up whatever the potion was that creates these things and—"

"And bam! Full on tentacle monster."

"Great, so he sees Mandy, decides he likes her, turns her. Mandy sees you…"

Sam gives his brother an accusing look, and Dean raises his hands defensively.

"Oh, come on! You can't blame me that she had the hots for me. How could she not?"

"You didn't have to encourage her," Sam mutters.

Dean had flirted shamelessly with Mandy, the way he always does with pretty girls while they're on cases. Sam knows why he does it, knows Dean likes to get him riled up and jealous, so Sam will fuck him rough and possessive when they get home. It's usually harmless, and hot, Sam can admit that much. He knows Dean does it to manipulate him, but Sam can never help himself from playing into Dean's scheme. Not after all those years he spent as a horny teenager, wanting Dean desperately, watching him run around fucking every girl he saw, leaving Sam convinced he would never, ever get to do anything about it. He's still a little obsessed with the fact that he gets to claim Dean whenever he wants.

But this time, it turns out, it wasn't harmless. If Dean hadn't flirted with Mandy, she might not have wanted to make him her mate. Maybe she would have attacked Sam first and Dean wouldn't be slowly changing into something they might not be able to save him from.

"Sammy," Dean says, reaching out to put his hand on Sam's wrist. "If we can't cure this in time, I want you to just—look, you pretty much said it yourself okay? This is my own fault. So as soon as I seem like I'm not me, you gotta put me down."

"Fuck you." Sam pulls his hand away from Dean. "How could you even say that to me, after all the shit you gave me for—?"

"I'll turn you."

Sam stops and stares at his brother, and Dean just shrugs, looking away dejectedly. "It's obsessed with you, Sam. This thing inside me. And I know some of it is me. But that's the first thing it's gonna do once it's in control of me. It's gonna try to make you its mate or whatever. And I can't—this is so stupid. We're not both going out over something this stupid."

"Neither of us is going out over something this stupid," Sam growls. "Bobby's gonna figure out the cure and we'll be fine."

"We don't know that."

"Whatever happened to 'it's not a big deal, Sam'? You've been reassuring me for days, now suddenly you're trying to tell me I might have to kill you?"

"Well, in light of new evidence," Dean says, holding his hands up. "It wasn't a big deal when I thought it just made me want to fuck you a lot. That wasn't all that different. Now you tell me it's gonna make me try to turn people? Well, guess what Sam, right now you're not just at the top of the list. You are the list."

"I'm not going to kill you."

"Great. Fine. We'll make a splendid couple of human-munching krakens. And they say romance is dead."

"Shut up," Sam says, and apparently his tone is clear and cold enough that Dean gets just how much Sam doesn't want to hear any more from him. His face shuts down and he nods, goes to sleep in the wrong bed, leaving Sam alone for the first time in so long, Sam's lost track.

_______________________________________________________________

He doesn't wake up alone. In fact, when Sam opens his eyes the next morning, it feels like there are three people in bed with him, hands sneaking under the covers to touch his chest, his thigh, one palming his dick.

"That'd better be you, Dean," Sam says.

There's no response—from Dean or anybody—so Sam looks down. He nearly jumps out of his skin. It's Dean, alright. Dean's hand on his crotch, and six brand new blue tentacles touching the rest of him. They're growing out of Dean's sides, right by his ribs, as if they've been there his whole life. Dean's skin is starting to turn light blue, and when Dean looks up to meet his gaze, he sees big blue eyes, round like a circle and with a huge black pupil in the middle. They're not completely unfamiliar, Sam looked into eyes just like this when he was trying to fight Mandy off. But they're not Dean's, not those deep green eyes Sam has been depending on his whole life.

He sits up in a panic, worried Dean is too far gone already, but Dean eases him back down. "Shh, Sam," he says. "It's okay. It's still me. I'm still me."

"Jesus, Dean." Sam scans his face and feels relieved when he registers that, yeah, the eyes are wrong, the skin color is off, but that's his brother's expression, the one he always wore to convince Sam the monster in his closet wasn't real. "You're all—"

"Blue, dabadee dabadie," Dean sings. He smirks once he's got Sam laughing and cups Sam's face, leaning in to kiss him. "I'm all kinds of messed up, Sammy."

He moves in closer, climbing on top of Sam, the hand that had been lightly playing with his dick now pulling it out of his boxers and stroking him. "But I'm still me."

"D'you really think we should…?"

"I need to," Dean says, sounding a little ashamed. "God, Sam. I can't think about anything else. I need you."

Sam pulls him in and kisses him hard, and Dean's mouth stays attached to his skin even after Sam stops. He licks up every trace of sweat on Sam's neck, his mouth coming back to Sam's jaw to nip and kiss.

He's so needy and desperate and has been for days and it's going to be the end of Sam if this thing inside of Dean gets its way.

Dean keeps jerking him, making sounds like he might come just from touching Sam's dick, and then he bites down hard on Sam's neck. Not hard enough to break the skin. Not hard enough to poison him. But Sam knows that's the animal clawing up inside of his brother, knows that it's trying to do what it's not yet strong enough to do.

And that should piss him off or scare him, but instead Sam lets out a loud groan. "Fuck, Dean. You're so hot like this."

Dean laughs, ducking his face into the nook of Sam's neck. "You choose the weirdest times to be kinky, Sammy. I'm turning into a squid, man."

He doesn't relent, though, keeps on jacking Sam's cock, and one more bite to Sam's neck is all it takes to make Sam cry out as he comes.

Between waiting for Bobby to call, Sam spends most of the day trying to get as much of his own research done as he can when his brother won't get off his lap and stop trying to fuck him for five minutes.

He doesn't like the idea of leaving Dean alone, not when there's no telling what he'll be when he comes back, but after a few hours it becomes obvious they'll both starve if he doesn't go grab some food. Dean, in all his blue-skinned betentacled glory, can't exactly go outside on a dinner run and this thing inside him is almost as hungry as it is horny.

When he gets back to the motel, Dean doesn't seem to have undergone much more metamorphosis. Of course, Sam gets a little distracted by what he finds to really look.

Dean is butt naked on the bed, his body stretched out: heels digging into the foot of the bed, head thrown back, arms grasping the headboard for dear life. There are tentacles everywhere, or so it seems. Sam actually has to stop to count them, make sure these are the six he woke up with.

Each of Dean's nipples is being teased by one of his new limbs, a curl around the brown nubs and suckers attaching and detaching from the skin on Dean's chest, making Dean gasp with pleasure every time they move. Another is wrapped around Dean's dick—not completely, not enough that Sam can't see how hard he is, the shine of white fluid, and Sam thinks it's jacking Dean with his own come. It's not surprising, with the way Dean's libido has been this week, that it managed to get him off and hard again all in the time it took Sam to pick up some burgers.

But those are only teasers for the really amazing thing about Dean right now. There are _two_ tentacles inside of Dean, a third poking at Dean's ass like it's just trying to find an opening. He's getting fucked by his own damn tentacles.

"Sam," Dean says, stretching the name out for what feels like a full minute.

"Yeah," Sam says, still staring. "I'm here, Dean."

Dean lifts his head, giving Sam a woozy grin. He looks drunk, and surprised that Sam answered him. Probably too blissed out to even realize Sam had come back.

"Was just thinking about you," he says, biting his lip. "Been thinking all kinds of things about you, Sammy."

"I see," Sam replies stupidly. He's not even talking to Dean, if he's being honest, because he can’t take his eyes off the way those limbs are fucking his brother. He clears his throat and with all the will he has in him manages to look up at Dean's face. "Should I, uh, stop them?"

"No," Dean says with a laugh. "Fuck, no, this feels amazing."

Sam takes an involuntary step forward, sliding the bags of food onto the table by the window, completely forgotten. Dean's whole body responds to his proximity, the tentacles all pulling away, clearing Sam's path to Dean and reaching out to bring him in. Like even these mindless limbs know Dean is his, and only his, and they can’t have him. Not even if they're a part of him now. They can't have him.

"Sam," Dean says, beckoning him closer. "C'mere."

Sam pulls his shirt off over his head and drops it with no ceremony, his jeans coming off quick and easy and joining the shirt in a pile on the floor. He gets on the bed at the foot, but Dean's limbs pull him up just as much as he moves himself. Sam feels like he's drugged by the time he's hovering over Dean, their bodies lined up.

Dean reaches out, sliding his fingers into Sam's hair, and Sam closes his eyes, not wanting to see Dean's blue or smell the salt nearly drowning out Dean's usual scent. He whispers Sam's name and something about how beautiful Sam is, something Sam knows his brother would never say out loud. So he kisses Dean just to shut him up.

Dean's mouth tastes like the sea, but underneath, Sam can still pretend it's his brother he's kissing.

The limbs wrap around Sam, a tight embrace drawing him down into Dean's body. Sam turns his face away so he can ask, but before he does, Dean says, "'s okay, Sam. I'm all opened up for you. They got me so wet for you. Please, just. Please, Sammy. Don't make me ask for it."

Sam nods, his dick hard enough by now that he doesn't need to make Dean wait. And when he lowers his hips, expecting to have to find Dean, he slides in easily, two tentacles already holding Dean stretched and open for him. Dean is so loose already that Sam has no problem fucking in until his balls are slapping Dean's ass.

The tentacles move as soon as Sam is inside Dean, grasping him all over and pulling him in, keeping rhythm as Sam thrusts roughly into his brother. Dean's hands are wrapped around Sam, too, looping under his arms and reaching up to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. Dean is making all kinds of noises he's never made before, blabbering words that are half nonsense, half praise with Sam's name mixed in.

He wants to hate this, but he can't. Not when it feels so good and Dean is looking up at him with wonder in his weird blue eyes, like he's never seen Sam before. Sam thought the way Dean usually looked at him was crushing enough. He knows that some of this is that creature, but some of it has to be Dean, too. Dean at his most basic level, all the animalistic love and lust that he works so hard to keep buried under bad jokes and drinking binges.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam says, ducking his head so it's tucked into Dean's neck. Dean turns his face, and Sam hears him take a deep breath, breathing him in. Then his hands are buried in Sam's hair, warm and comforting and oddly tender, even as their bodies are slamming together, Sam's cock being urged on by the thick, insistent limbs tying them together.

It feels so right like this, letting the new parts of Dean bind them together, push them so hard there's no space between, and listening to Dean whimper with every thrust Sam pushes into him like he never wanted that space to begin with.

Sam wants to stay buried here, he decides, deep inside of Dean, for the rest of his life. No more worrying that he'll lose him. No more jealousy. No more anything but Dean. Sam wants to stay buried inside his brother until their bones turn to dust, and if he can't save Dean, he decides that's what he's gonna do. If he has to kill Dean, he won't live without him. He’ll lie down next to his brother and stay there forever, proper burial, salt and fire be damned.

His thoughts are interrupted by the tentative touch of a blunt, wet little tip on his hole, and a shiver passes through Sam. One of the tentacles is playing with him, but respectfully, almost like it's asking for permission.

"Dean, are you?" Sam pants.

Dean laughs. "Kind of. They have a mind of their own, but I think I can stop it if you—"

"No," Sam says, pulling up and bringing Dean with him, trying to make the invitation clear without having to stop fucking Dean. "No, it's good. I—you can try it, if you want."

"Like I said," Dean tells him. "Weirdest times to be kinky." As if Sam hadn't caught him less than twenty minutes ago with three shoved up his ass, begging for more like the cockslut he frankly sort of is.

"Just do it," Sam says, punctuating the demand with a rough thrust.

Dean makes an 'oof' sound, then pushes Sam up so he can see his grin. Even with the different features, that smile is so Dean that a wave of relief washes over Sam. And then the tentacle pushes in, fucking him carefully. It finds his sweet spot in seconds, like it's been genetically programmed to do nothing else, and for all Sam knows of this creature, maybe it has.

Sam closes his eyes, rolling his hips like the motion of waves crashing on sand, trying not to get caught in the undercurrent of pleasure that drowns him every time he finds that perfect moment, when Dean's tentacle hits him in just the right place as he's bottoming out in his brother.

"So good," Dean tells him, hands moving down, patting over Sam's back like he needs to touch everywhere. "Gonna come, Sam. Gonna come."

"Fuck," Sam says, looking down with disbelief. The limb that had been stroking Dean when he got here never touched Dean again once Sam joined in. All Dean has is the feel of Sam inside of him and the friction of his dick caught between their bodies. "Can you really?"

"Gonna," Dean assures him, and then he covers his mouth with the back of his hand, biting down hard on his own fingers to keep himself from biting Sam.

Somehow, Dean does manage to come like that. He shoots without Sam even touching him, and Sam braces his arms on either side of his brother's head so he can look down, see the string of come that begins to smear between their bodies as Sam just keeps on fucking and fucking down into him.

That's about all Sam can handle. One more twist inside of him, a perfect push against his prostate, and Sam isn’t just coming, he's letting go of so much inside of Dean that it feels like his bones are melting under his skin.

The tentacle slips out of him, but the ones that had been gripping his sides begin to pet him gently, soothingly, like Dean used to pass his hand over Sam's forehead when he was sick. For a moment, Sam wonders if his sides will be covered in sucker hickeys like the victims they'd seen had been. Then Dean ruins his zen.

"Not such a bad way to go, is this?" Dean says it with a rough laugh, but Sam can tell it's forced. Can tell Dean really thinks Sam is going to let this be the end of him.

He coils his fingers in the cord around Dean's neck, rises, and tugs Dean up by the amulet for one last kiss. "You have to hold on, okay? Please. Don't slip away from me just yet, Dean. You gotta fight this a little longer."

Dean puts a hand on Sam's face and tries to keep serious as he says, "Where's my burger, bitch? I'm starving."

_______________________________________________________________

Sam's phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning, and he has to fight his way through what seems like a thousand limbs to answer it. Intellectually, Sam knows it's only eight: two arms and six tentacles, but Sam doesn't do intellect at—he checks the phone and groans—6:23 in the morning.

"Hello," he mumbles.

"Hey, Sam."

Hearing Bobby's voice makes Sam jolt awake, sitting up fast enough that he wakes Dean, too. "Tell me you got some good news."

"I've got great news. There are fifteen different herbs that can clear this crap out of Dean's system. No spell or complicated mambo jambo, either. Just gotta get him to swallow some, and it'll bring the poison right up."

"That's amazing!" Sam says. "What are they?"

"Well, unfortunately, fourteen of them are pretty hard to find outside of the Mediterranean or at least Europe."

"And let me guess," Sam says gloomily. "The last one is rare even over here?"

"Nah," Bobby says. "Did I tell you I had great news? It's verbena. You can stock up on that easy enough. The lore says the hard part will be getting him to agree to ingest it. You may have to fight him."

"He has eight arms," Sam says. "How am I supposed to overpower him? He has _eight arms_."

"Eight, huh?" Bobby says with a chuckle, and Sam remembers then that Bobby hadn't heard about that part just yet. "I don't know, Sam. I got you the information you needed. Not much more I can do from South Dakota at this point."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose to center himself. "Yeah, no, I know. Sorry. Thanks, Bobby."

"No problem," Bobby says. "You have your brother call me when he's back to normal. I've got a few choice words for him."

"You bet," Sam says with a smile.

He hangs up, and then he notices Dean is watching him with a horrified expression on his face.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asks, trying to cup his cheek and bring him in for a kiss.

Dean flinches away. "Don't touch me," he snaps, and then he goes soft. "Don't touch me, Sammy. I'm—you gotta lock me up, Sam. I'm slipping fast. I—" He makes an anguished face and presses his palm to his forehead. "Fuck, I can't think straight."

"Shit, Dean. Are you—?"

"I want to turn you, and that's all I want," Dean growls. "Lock me down."

"With what, rope? You have tentacles!" Sam gets out of bed and starts pulling on the clothes he'd left on the floor last night. "Okay, Dean, just stay here. I'll be back real soon. I'll be back right away. Bobby called. I'm gonna save you. You just gotta hold on."

"The bathroom," Dean says. "Leave me locked in there with a saltwater bath. I'll try to control it as long as I can."

Sam does just that. He rushes out before he even realizes he has no idea where to find verbena in bulk, and sends a quiet 'thank you' to the technology gods for inventing his smartphone. Apparently there's a mega-mall half an hour away, and somewhere in there is an entire store dedicated to selling verbena-scented products.

Sam doesn't have too much trouble finding the store on the mall directory, but he feels even more like a freak than usual once he's walked in. The store is pretty small, tasteful green and gold displays from floor to ceiling, and he's the only person there too young to get a discount with a senior ID.

The nice old lady at the register seems to see how out of his element he is, so she walks over slowly, stopping next to him and looking up. She seems about two feet tall from where he's standing.

"Let me guess," she says, giving him a knowing smile. "Girlfriend's birthday. You forgot it was coming up?"

Sam laughs and scratches the back of his neck, trying to look like it's guilt causing the panic that's probably rolling off of him in waves. "Grandma, actually," he lies. "It was last week, so I want to get her something really nice."

"Well, aren't you a sweetie?" she asks.

She runs him through nearly every product in the store, Sam trying to keep his impatience in check while moving things along at the same time. He buys as many things as he can carry, nodding with interest as she gives him instructions on how to register online for reminders so he'll be on time for grandma's birthday next year. It's hard not to flinch and feel a little bad when the woman ("you can call me Sally, dear") wishes his grandmother a happy birthday and thanks him for his business by the highly improbable name on his credit card, never giving the slightest inclination she suspects it might be fake.

All told, Sam is back to the motel in less than two hours, pretty well-stocked, and he's relieved to find the bathroom door still locked and unbroken when he gets there.

As soon as he opens it, though, he hears an angry sound that's almost a roar, and he realizes Dean has been trying to bust his way out, nearly successful. He lunges as if to tackle Sam, and Sam thinks he would have managed it, too, except that as soon as he smells the rich perfume of the flower Sam brought to try curing him, he hisses and falls back, stepping into the tub of saltwater.

"Dean, it's okay. I'm here to help you." He picks up one of the stems and holds it out to Dean. "It's gonna cure you."

Dean pulls back even more, and Sam realizes with horror that although Dean doesn't seem to have physically changed any more while he was gone, there's nothing of his brother in the face staring back at him accusingly.

 _It's too late_ , says a voice in Sam's head. _You took too long. You let him go._

Sam shakes his head, forcing himself to stay on task. He can't give in to despair, not yet. Dean might still be in there. The chance that he can beat this isn't completely gone.

He gives his brother an apologetic look, then begins to lay the stems of flowers in a line across the bathroom floor. "I'm sorry, Dean," he says as soon as his brother starts hissing again. "I know you don't like the smell. But I just gotta do this to keep you in here for a bit. So you don't break out while I make something to cure you, alright?"

Sam looks up at the creature—no, at his brother—as if Dean is going to give him some sign of understanding, but there's nothing intelligent in its freakishly round blue eyes.

Tea, he decides, is his best bet. Bobby told him it didn't have to be too concentrated, so Sam steeps some of the herb in boiling saltwater, hoping the salt will attract Dean enough to cover up the verbena scent.

When it's ready, he takes Dean a cup, knowing his brother will never stop mocking him for buying a tea set. _If he makes it out of this_ , the ugly half of Sam's brain says helpfully.

Dean has gotten out of the tub again. He's sitting on the floor now, naked blue body sprawled out over the tile floor, sitting as close as he can get to the verbena barricade without risking touching it. When he looks up at Sam, he looks so scared and betrayed that Sam feels the same guilt he did the first time he saw a panther at the zoo, too big for its cage, pacing desperately and looking out at the people for mercy.

Sam kneels by him and holds out the tea, silently offering it. Dean sniffs at it for a second, then makes a wounded sound. Like a scared animal, it's only seconds before his survival instincts kick in, and he pushes Sam and the tea away so violently and so fast that Sam falls backward onto the other side of the room, the hot tea nearly scalding his chest. It misses him by inches, only splashing onto his jeans, and the cup shatters on the floor behind Sam's head.

So there goes any hope of Dean drinking it voluntarily. Sam rises on his arm and backward crawls farther from Dean. "You're gonna hurt me now, Dean? Is that how this is going to go?"

Dean doesn't reply except with another hiss.

Sam stands and walks out of the bathroom, his hands dragging through his hair. He needs to think of something, something that will get Dean to drink, and he needs to do it fast. Every second, Dean slips farther out of his reach.

He won't let himself acknowledge the ugly truth. Dean is probably already gone. Dean is gone, and even if Sam does manage to get him to drink, it's not going to save him. It's going to kill him.

Shaking his head, Sam stomps his foot, yelling, "No!" like an angry child. Dean would have mocked him for that. Dean would have, in that smartass way he always did, and Sam can't just accept that stubborn jackass brother of his isn't holding on somewhere inside of that creature locked in the bathroom. Deep down, maybe. But Sam can't give up on him. Doesn't want to and doesn't really believe in a world where Dean isn't strong enough to come through for him.

If Sam can just do his part. All he needs is to do his part and he knows his brother will be there for him. He always is.

There's only one thing Dean might want more than he doesn't want to swallow that herb. He wants Sam. He wants to turn Sam, and Sam realizes it could be a good thing. There's still the chance he's wrong, that Dean is lost and this will kill him. Or maybe the cure won't work right, maybe Sam will end up turning. But there's also a chance Dean will take a bite out of him, even if he's soaked in verbena, and maybe that'll be enough to save them both.

Otherwise, it's all the same to Sam. Dean dies. Dean turns him. Either way, he'll have to kill his brother, and then he'll have a week to give Dean a proper funeral and kill himself before he turns into a monster, too.

He drinks what's left of the tea, not letting the disgusting taste of saltwater soaked in flower get the better of him. He leaves no stone unturned now, digging through the bags of verbena products Sally had talked him into buying and using each one: washes his forearm in the soap, sprays it with the cologne. If there was a way to inject the herb into his veins, Sam would do that, too.

Then he goes back into the bathroom, moving slowly so he doesn't spook Dean.

"You win, okay," Sam tells him, rolling up his sleeve. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I quit. I don't want to stay human if you're not. I don't want to lose you. I'd rather…"

Sam holds his arm out over the line, a clear offering.

Maybe he imagines the look that passes over his brother's face for just a split second: disappointment and guilt, sadness and heartbreak. Maybe he only sees that because he knows that's what Dean would look like if he thought Sam was about to throw his life away and he's projecting.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. The look is gone too quickly to know if it was real, and then Dean is approaching him, wary but excited. His eyes dodge up to Sam's as he takes Sam's arm between his hands, like he's expecting Sam to change his mind.

"Go on," Sam says, nodding his head. Trying to look defeated, when really he feels triumph rising up inside him. Dean should be close enough to smell the verbena on his skin. The fact that he hasn't rejected the offering yet makes Sam think he isn't going to. "Just do it already."

He does, lifting Sam's wrist to his mouth and chomping down hard. Sam cries out in pain and yanks his arm away at the same time Dean screams and shoves him back. Sam lands on his ass, but he catches hold of the sink and uses it for leverage, not taking his eyes off Dean for a moment.

Dean is shaking on the floor, his tentacles flailing the way Mandy's had when Sam had killed her. Sam closes his eyes, trying to believe that's the monster dying inside of Dean and that it doesn't have to be the same as Dean dying.

The screaming goes on for what seems like forever, Dean clutching at his sides as he comes apart. Sam's arm is throbbing, blood dropping onto the floor, but it’s not fatal, and it can wait. He can't stop looking at Dean. What if Dean dies while he's not looking?

"It's okay," he says, moving across the room, over the safety line so he can pull his brother up into his lap. "Dean, it's okay. You're gonna be okay."

To his surprise, he sees Dean's eyes—still a little too round and dilated, but green and unquestionably shrinking—staring back at him. Another two minutes and the tentacles are sinking into Dean's sides, smaller and smaller by the second.

Sam has the unbearably ugly thought that even if his brother _is_ dying, at least it'll be his human body Sam's left with. At least he'll get to bury his brother, not some unrecognizable thing that wanted to hurt him.

He strokes a hand over Dean's sweaty cheek, and Dean closes his eyes weakly. "Dean, it's okay. Please. I'm telling you, you have to be okay."

The blue tint to Dean's skin is starting to vanish now, but it's leaving Dean's skin a little green, like he's queasy.

Sam smiles and tries to pull his brother up closer to him. "You look like you did that time on the airplane," he teases, brushing aside some of the hair sticking to Dean's temple. "Remember that, Dean?"

Dean doesn't say anything. He opens his eyes and looks up at Sam, and he looks so tired. So sick. Like he's not fighting, but that's not possible, because he's Dean, and he's always fighting.

"You remember," Sam insists, giving him an encouraging shake. "I know you remember."

"Hurts," Dean says, his voice rough from screaming so long.

"What does?" Sam asks. "I can get an ice pack or—"

"Listening to you talk. It's really painful," Dean replies, obviously with some effort. Sam looks down at him, and Dean manages a smirk. It's a wispy, pathetic little smirk, but Sam's so happy to see it he won't even mock Dean about it. Until he's healthy again, at least. "Also literally every part of my body. But mostly the first thing."

"I could drop you right now. Just for the satisfaction of hearing the sound your head would make when it hits the floor."

"Don't be like that," Dean replies. "Help me up instead."

"Yeah, okay, fine. But you owe me big time." Sam shows him his arm. "You tried to eat me."

Dean reaches out, frowning as he traces the bite marks on Sam's arm. "I did this?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Apparently your teeth were pretty sharp for a while there."

When he manages to look away from the cut, Dean is so guilty that Sam actually laughs. He's so happy to have Dean back and safe and mostly healthy except that apparently all of him is in pain that he doesn't even need to fake the smile he can't keep off his face.

"All I'm saying is: blowjobs. I'm thinking an infinite number of blowjobs. And you're on laundry duty for like a month."

"Oh, gee, the suffering," Dean says, his voice flat. "All those blowjobs I wasn't planning to give you anyway. Didn't realize I had you so starved for sex, Sammy."

Sam groans and laughs at the same time. "Ugh, don't even say the word sex to me for a few days. You were like the Energizer Bunny this week. I think my balls are sore from trying to satisfy you."

Dean grins like that's the best compliment anyone has ever given him, and Sam briefly wonders why he's so attached to this idiot.

"Alright, hot nurse. Help me get my sore ass to bed." Dean shifts around, as if he's testing his body out. "I think I can maybe walk if you hold me up."

Sam helps carry Dean to bed and leaves him there while he deals with the bite on his wrist and makes dinner.

"Nothing with salt," Dean tells him as he flicks through channels. He sends Sam a meaningful glance in the kitchen. "I don't think I ever wanna taste salt again."

"I hope you're not planning to quit sex, too. You binged on that while you were squidding out."

"Yeah, but c'mon," Dean says. "Me, sex. Never enough. Hell, you wanna go? I could go right now."

"Right, right," Sam says, even though it's obvious Dean needs a good night's rest, maybe several good night's rests, before he's ready to do anything more than…

Sam smirks. "Hey, Dean. After dinner, you wanna snuggle?"

"Mention that again and I will end you," Dean says. "Just so we're clear."

But when all is said and done and Sam is turning out the lights, Dean holds up the blanket on his bed, the invitation implicit, and Sam slips in, molding his body around Dean's. "I'm glad you're back."

"Never went anywhere," Dean says sleepily, his words interrupted by a big yawn. "Never going to. Can't get rid of me that easy."

Sam smiles up at the ceiling and squeezes Dean just a little tighter.

**The End.**


End file.
